HIStory and HERstory
by Majin-Fox
Summary: A SLIVER separates PAIN and PLEASURE... Vegeta never felt ALONE 'til he met HER. Bulma gets lost in HIM in a WONDERFUL DAZE. Trapped in the chasm between LOVE and HATE, all THEY'll ever get is CLOSURE.Set in those missing three emotionally charged years.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: yackedee shmackedee blah blah blah.  
  
HIStory and HERstory By: Majin Ouji  
  
  
  
CHAPTER 1: Introspection (Vegeta Style)  
  
Unlike all the other lavishly furnished living quarters of Capsule Corp., this one is clean of the many "stupid human clutter" upon the "request" of the cordial houseguest. Barely an indication of the occupant's high social status is the purple hue of the silken sheets on which lies the very restless slumbering form of a certain arrogant alien prince. Written all over his chiseled features is TENSION - unbearable even for him. Heat emanating from his sweat-drenched body fosters the room with a damp, balmy, and tropic-like climate belying the raging cold gust negotiating with the ajar windows for entry. Completely oblivious to the weather tug-of-war going on, the alien royal's limbs writhes in barely suppressed anxiety - even in his sleep he just had to be tough. He is in the heat of battle. The venue: some corner of his gloomy, volatile, deranged, psychotic saiya-jin mind.  
  
'A saiya-jin can only be cruel.' I remember my epitaph on Namek all too well. I jolt back to consciousness. Involuntarily, my arms prop my reluctant body to sit up straight. Heavy beads of sweat race from my forehead down to my torso. I desperately catch my breath and inhale as much air as my lungs would permit. I continue to breathe erratically for a few moments as my eyes wander around my dimly lit quarters.  
  
Realization.  
  
"You're alive." I say to myself apathetically, void of any zeal. "Kakkarot! ." came out in a low growl low as my sharp teeth grit against each other to the brink of breaking. The commoner saved me. I feel a vein popping in my forehead just thinking about that intellectually challenged third-rate warrior.  
  
I.DESPISE. HIM.  
  
That commoner stole my destiny. Freeza, that purple abominable faggot, met his demise in his saiya-jin hands - NOT MINE!!! He ascended to Super Saiyan Status - the title which is my birthright, the legendary warrior of the Saiya-jin race. My race. A dead race.  
  
An all to familiar pain punctures my chest compelling my right hand to caress that aching spot. "Kuso." I mutter with much annoyance. Regaining some of my senses, I put my arms behind my head as I lean on the headboard. This dream is not a rare occurrence, a searing pinkish beam burrowing right through my badly beaten body extinguishing what little life is left in me. It was a noble defeat. The only end my wounded pride would accept is to fall like true warrior's do - to die in battle. It should have been that way.  
  
"BUT NO! YOU just had to shame me even more by reviving me with the dragonballs!" with unabashed rage, I utter these to blow off steam. But it's not enough.  
  
"ONORE! BAKA! SHIMATTA!" In tune with the badmouthing are tightly clenched fists pounding on the soft mattress. I exhaust every breath in cursing the object of my HATRED.  
  
Still, I am not satisfied.  
  
"Anytime, I'd rather book a plane ticket to hell than live this shitty life you so considerately gave me!" My voice trembles with fury. and uncertainty?! Hell. That is where I belong but a shiver that coursed along my spine seems to argue otherwise.  
  
"Damn You." You just had to give me a front row seat in your victory - MY DEFEAT!  
  
Why must my fucking mind remind me of my failures - in excruciatingly vivid details?!?!  
  
". " I scream but I hear nothing. No sound came from my quaking lips. The turmoil within me is settling at a more controllable level. I now become aware of the heat seeping from my tensed body. I reprimand myself. Never did I lose control of my ki in my sleep. I revert it back to normal. Now would be a pretty damn good time to try reflect on that last bit of thought before I bolted out from my not so peaceful slumber: A saya-jin can only be cruel.  
  
"Have I not stayed true to that?!" I hear my gentle pleading words echo through the dark realms of my mind. as well as the four corners rooms of my room. 'I believe so.' I yell in my mind. "What came out of it?" I utter this once, almost like an angry whisper. Even with my excellent hearing, I barely heard my own question. To say I'm irritated would be an understatement.  
  
The answer is plain and simple: DEATH.  
  
This "second chance in life", a human concept the woman kept reminding me, is supposed to be taken advantage of. I snort inwardly. I give no second thoughts in taking advantage of anything. "Yes. A second chance. in putting YOU out of your misery and claiming what is rightfully MINE!!!" I say this in a cold demeanor far beneath the chilly air enveloping me. No one is around.  
  
Two conflicting emotions tugged for supremacy somewhere in my polluted mind. Not surprisingly, Hatred quashed any remnants of Relief. My eyes linger on that troubled spot. A hand touches over it tentatively as if doubting my continued existence as nothing but a mirage - wishful thinking on my part. Then again, I do have to repay Kakkarot for giving me a second chance in life. Killing him agonizingly slow is my way of showing. what's the word? "Gratitude. That's the word." I manage to choke out. This concept is as alien to me as my being an ally to the Z Senshi losers.  
  
"My destiny." To erase Kakkarot from the world of the living is my destiny now. I must acquire the powers of the legendary first! I am well aware of the price I have to pay - PAIN. I am saiya-jin elite, first class, I eat torture for breakfast. even lunch and dinner! What are a few broken ribs, dislocated shoulders, and intense hemorrhage in exchange for his severed smiling head? "Haha." came a sarcastic laugh. Even if I want to indulge myself with the mental image of my reward served on a silver platter, I won't. Only when I see HIS lifeless decapitated corpse in the flesh will I allow myself to savor the moment - EVERY FUCKING MOMENT. "I WILL NOT FAIL!!!" determined words came out in deafening decibels as I get out of my bed yelling at the open window. I let the silken sheets cascade down my bare body as I come out to perch on the railings of the balcony - which I share with that wench. I am not ashamed of my sculpted physique unlike these insecure humans. I amuse myself with the sound of my resolve echoing throughout the deserted cityscape. From way up here, ten-storeys up, the view is breath taking. I would not say this out loud and I mentally slap myself for even thinking it.  
  
Disengaging from his perch, the proud - and very naked - heir of a forgotten race abruptly headed for his doorway but came to a sudden halt. Cat-like eyes focused on one thing: The invitingly opened door of the aqua- maned human female.  
  
"Hhmm. I wonder why Bulma left her door wide open?" I ask in a manner uncharacteristic of me - gentle. "Careless. Unacceptable." I say irritably to the door. Damn mudball, infested with pathetically weak low-lives - but scoundrels nonetheless - itching to be the apex predator.  
  
"Humans are formidable adversaries. Preying on them is a real challenge." Came a sarcastic retort. I furrow my brows and manipulate my lips to take on that infamous frown to look disturbingly genuine. I know I look the part.  
  
Damn I'm so convincing!  
  
I consider all humans to be insufferably puny. The woman in particular is pathetic even by Earth standards - which is as low as you can go on my book.  
  
She's a convenient target - a sitting duck.  
  
Given that the state-of-the-art security system of Capsule Corp. makes this virtually impenetrable to unwanted elements, she should have known better than be so negligent. " I guess the loose bolts in her head fell-off completely." I say it in the most nonchalant manner I could muster.  
  
"HMP!" I grunt inwardly. Not in a million years would I do something so reckless - suicidal even. In battle, leaving your defenses down is hazardous to your health. It figures. She is NOT a warrior.  
  
"And she calls herself a genius" I continue to argue with the non- responsive piece of wood.  
  
WAIT A MINUTE?!  
  
"NANI?!? Vegeta, Why do you give a fuckin' damn about that human!?" I irritably murmur to myself.  
  
" GGGRRR." Feral growls rasp from my throat but I manage to swallow them back. with much difficulty.  
  
I am careful not to wake her. Not that I give a damn about interrupting her "beauty sleep" as she would prefer calling it. I am agitated enough already to bear with the bitching that would naturally follow for disturbing her. Anyway, who am I to deprive such a hideous creature of much needed beauty sleep? "It's cruel how the gene pool could play tricks on you." I say candidly cruel. Times like this, I amaze myself with my creativity. Mental note: Include this in your repertoire of bulma-specific verbal assaults.  
  
"Nah, she's not that ugly." As soon as I heard myself, I had the sudden urge to strangle myself.  
  
I compensate for the previous. err. mental lapse.  
  
Remembering to keep my voice down low, I deliver an almost inaudible rapid run-down of that repertoire "bitchwhorewenchloudmouthdisgustinglyhideousslut." That train of curses halted when I could breathe no more.  
  
Mental slapping is in order. "Kuso." It's not enough. I resort to slapping of the physical variety but to no avail. I shake my head in disbelief. Nonetheless, I congratulate myself for my previous genius. I dwell on that thought, desperately hoping to exorcise Bulma from my head.  
  
". " GGGRRReat! I just forgot what I was about to say. "This is just plain dandy." I mumble sarcastically as I raise my hands to the heavens. I must really look like a village idiot right now. Anyone unlucky enough to bear witness to THIS had better prepare his OBITUARY.  
  
A not so impertinent question comes to my attention. "I wonder where the scarred weakling has gone to?" Haven't sensed his distinctive laughable ki for quite sometime now. For no reason at all, my lips curl in to a smile. Normal thinking comes back and I berate myself for concerning myself with inconsequential matters. Everything outside the fulfillment of my destiny is utter NONSENSE.  
  
"Nonsense." I say this more to myself than to the vacuum-like silence that continues to envelop me. I suddenly become aware that I've been gazing at her door for quite sometime now so I avert my wayward eyes from it and immediately make a mad dash for my living quarters.  
  
As the out-of-focused figure made that desperate turn, an unwelcome combination of flashing pinkish light and booming racket greeted him. Needless to say, he was caught off-guard. Being the temperamental saiya-jin that he is, there is only one course of action: LOCATE. IDENTIFY. DESTROY.  
  
  
  
AN: That's right, I am soliciting for your comments.  
  
We all know the conclusion of this unique love-hate story. "HOW will it come to that?" That is THE QUESTION. 


	2. Introspection (Bulma Fashion)

HIStory and HERstory  
  
By: Majin Ouji  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Care to guess who owns DBZ?  
  
Author's Thank You's: A BIG Thank You goes to Kelly, Untouchable, Linda Davis, Star, Rez, Inalihi, Crittle, and R E fryer for reviewing.  
  
My special thanks goes to my trusty mug for patiently holding my frothé while I rack my brains with this.  
  
  
  
Chapter Two: Introspection (Bulma Fashion)  
  
Approximate Time: 11:45 pm, Saturday  
  
Two years, 7 months before the inevitable  
  
  
  
Gates Open.  
  
Discreetly, the resident "Princess" of the Capsule Empire returns from only Kami knows where. Riding her handsome scarlet steed – the Ford Mustang breed, she cunningly bypasses the security system. With brains like hers, this is mere child's play.  
  
Apparently, half of that brilliance is out of commission tonight. A head- on collision with a sturdy lamppost – all of its two-ton bulk – is not on her "to-do" list.  
  
Her pupils dilated. Finally, her sub-standard human senses identified the fast approaching threat. With not a precious second to spare, her innate Self-Preservation Mechanism assessed the whole predicament then urgently prescribed the necessary course of action:  
  
BRAKES! BRAKES! BRAKES! BRAKES!  
  
All She could do now was close her sapphire eyes and wait.  
  
Dangerously swerving, the out-of-control hunk of metal narrowly missed the undaunted concrete structure… only to roughly slam its passenger side against the unsuspecting palm tree a few yards away. Mocking the mishap, a barrage of coconuts rained from the rattled tree denting craters on the once polished convertible.  
  
  
  
Everything is spinning.  
  
With utmost caution, I open my eyes.  
  
Relief.  
  
"Thank Kami…" … I'm alive. I pinch my pale cheeks to make sure. I double- check to be SURE. Running on sheer will power, I slap myself with my dainty right hand until the numbness passes.  
  
"OUCH!!!" The stinging waves of pain woke my idle nerves but…"THAT REALLY HURTS YOU bi…"  
  
'…tch' I finish mentally. Realizing whose body that bothersome hand is connected to, I zip my mouth – a difficult task for an… uhmm… overly expressive woman like me.  
  
"OOOUUUCCCHHH!!!" this time, I scream in behalf of the veritable four- wheeled scrap metal I am buckled to. I thank the restraining strap profusely. My awkward digits fumble with its tight locks. A slight inconvenience really, but that BIG part of me which never reveled being held back – in any way – saw this the other way around.  
  
"Get! Off! Me!" I shriek at the stubborn thing.  
  
'Bulma?!? Get a hold of yourself! For Kami's sake, leave the seat belt alone!' so my conscience scolds me.  
  
"Whew…" FINALLY, I free myself.  
  
My chest heaves rhythmically as my grateful lungs indulge in the soothingly cool metropolitan breeze – never did this overly polluted air rejuvenate me like this. I look past the carbon monoxide for approximately five minutes. After that, I stop punishing my lungs with the excessive intake of the airborne poison.  
  
As the minutes pass, I regain my composure. My vanity reminds me that my pretty face really HURTS! – I think I overdid it with the slapping and all – and so does every muscle in my body.  
  
"Where's that stupid magic bean when you REALLY need it?!" I heavily pound my fists on the steering wheel in pure mad rage – with my strength (or lack thereof), this looks more like another tantrum episode of a spoiled psycho- bitch.  
  
"Yeah right, spoiled psycho-bitch. . ." I mutter inwardly.  
  
I lay back on the leathery seat as I cross my arms in contemplation of this fine mess. A lively tapping finger on the corner of my elbow further hints of my agitation.  
  
'Now who would have the balls – and the demented creativity – to call me that?' the intriguingly appalling question came out of nowhere.  
  
  
  
A mental light bulb flashed with blinding intensity: The answer is plain and obvious. With this realization sinking in, that bulb exploded like a supernova.  
  
  
  
"Vegeta…" I don't even know how that space ape's name escaped my clenched pearly whites.  
  
"Ooh! What a shocker!?!" I say appalled. If a lie detector were attached to me, I'd fail with flunking colors. 'D-U-H! I was being sarcastic back there!!!'  
  
"Arrogant! Bastard! Conniving lunatic!" I vehemently hiss my ABC's of Vegeta.  
  
For a very brief moment, my H-A-T-E for the Evil Prince of Munchkin Land eroded that nagging feeling – which I blame responsible for this colossal mess!  
  
That feeling of . . .  
  
'Stop. Don't go there' an inner voice reprimands me with gentle urgency. Not wanting to let my emotions get the better of me (again!), I give in. I shake my head hoping this would be of some help in evicting that burdening train of thoughts and unwanted feelings.  
  
I occupy my mind with… uhmm… more pressing matters.  
  
My fragile heart breaks at the mere sight of them.  
  
"don'tscardon'tscardon'tscar" I order the minute assortment of fresh cuts and bruises. I am desperate. Desperate times call for desperate measures: My ever reliable, irresistible womanly charms.  
  
I realized I'm THIS desperate the moment that 'P' word came out of my mouth.  
  
"PLEASE, don't scar"  
  
The miraculously intact clock caught my attention.  
  
"Well tough guy, care to tell me what time it is?" I humor the resilient thing. A phantom fake smile graces my face fleetingly.  
  
'1:23 am' he flashed at my direction.  
  
"Dear Kami No." Chances are, I'd run into my cordial houseguest if I stay any longer. I don't know for sure when does Mr. Personality resume his suicidal self-exile in HIS gravity room in desperate hopes of being better than the best – Son Kun.  
  
Correction: His high-ass doesn't HOPE for anything. He KNOWS he will emerge out of his cursed torture chamber victorious, his golden flame-styled mane flaunting it to the world.  
  
"I believe you" I am quite taken aback by my admission. On the part 'attaining the powers of the Legendary' crap, I do. On beating his arch- rival, I … I…  
  
"… have no idea" came another sudden realization.  
  
"Don't die… please?" With all of my being, I request this of him. As to who between the two I am pleading with my heart, I am lost in the dark.  
  
"… Both of you" came the safe answer.  
  
I clear my mind from all thoughts of that ominous fated reckoning between Son Kun and…  
  
"… Vegeta" In a manner lacking the usual pure hate, I utter his name. The hint of concern tingling in my voice and so much more in my head does not go unnoticed.  
  
"I… I… My head must have been… rattled(?)… worse than I thought" I reassure myself further with a mental note: Get your head examined.  
  
"Why should I avoid the repugnant prick? I LIVE HERE!!!" The statement dripping with resentment could fool just about everyone. Too bad, I can't convince myself. Right now, I don't have the spirits to confidently wear my mask of invincibility.  
  
"You are the last person I wa……" I fail to finish as my voice falters. 'YOU can't SEE ME THIS… weak'. My head bows in defeat while a disturbingly realistic mental image of him maniacally mocks me for the sheer sick pleasure.  
  
"…" Out of nowhere, a pang not new to me stabs my already wounded heart.  
  
"Why?" came that question everybody asks.  
  
  
  
For so many reasons, even she can not fathom WHY she gets lost in the dark vortex of her swirling mass of emotions towards the Saiyan no Ouji. If for a moment she could freeze that confusing tornado, she will know WHY.  
  
  
  
I look at the seat next to mine. My eyes focus on that squashed head.  
  
"Now where did you come from?" My flaming cerulean orbs glare at the coconut/murderer. I shove the cracked husk away from its victim: a head of lettuce – or what's left of its erstwhile juicy and leafy self. Other than the pancaked vegetable, the black 1eather seat is…  
  
"empty… " 'painfully empty'. By now, tears would have traversed that same route from my watery orbs to my cheeks.  
  
None made that journey.  
  
In my head, I am drowning in a sea of tears.  
  
"No more tears!" the not so gentle winds echo my resolve with ferocity to the eerie serenity of the shadows enveloping me. I wrap my arms around my throbbing form in a futile attempt to ease the twinge of loneliness.  
  
I sob and sulk in despair for what seemed like an eternity.  
  
I remember that the clock ticks not in my favor. Not bothering to look back, I grab my purse and leave this wreck. With my rusting iron will, I do my best in postponing this fit of self-pity as I walk these agonizing steps leading to that place of comfort – my sanctuary.  
  
  
  
Thanks for reading!  
  
Feedback is much appreciated. So far, all reviews are encouraging. The problem is, there's only a handful of them.  
  
What the heck, that's life! 


	3. Falls Apart

1 AN: It's 'bout gadem time for an update. I had been preoccupied with my OJT all throughout May; so I had to set aside writing until I get with it. So, without further ado, here it is: HIStory and HERstory.  
  
2  
  
3 Thanks to Caralin Fury, Someone, TweetyBoo, and Inalihi for reviewing.  
  
  
  
WARNING: Very, Very, Very Emotional Installment straight ahead; it's from a woman for crying out loud.  
  
By experience, I know women are emotional EVEN without their bags of problems.  
  
Anyway my brothers, we love 'em still.  
  
  
  
4 Chapter Three: Falls Apart  
  
  
  
Considering what she had been through, the emotional Chernobyll was more than thankful for the computerized doors. All that stood in the way of that sanctuary of hers is the security console attached to the impressive titanium doors. After a quick rummaging in her Prada purse for that electronic card key, she slid it into the console straight away.  
  
A period of waiting…  
  
And waiting…  
  
Her tapping foot matched with Vegeta-ish crossed arms are the more than obvious indicators that she is not a happy camper.  
  
  
  
"ACCESS DENIED." A wooden recording beckoned from the console.  
  
"Huh?!" It was all I could say even with my wide vocabulary. Normally, I would be raining down booming curses at the uncooperative thing with my Vegeta-specific vocabulary but this is not the time. Time, I don't have the luxury of it. I have to get in – now.  
  
  
  
Spiteful digits pulled the rejected sliver of plastic, then brought it to her scrutinizing eyes. Well aware of the massive clouds dulling the brilliance of the star spangled sky, she still pushed through with the inspection.  
  
  
  
"You don't have night vision you know?" I mumble with much annoyance to no other than myself. Then, I remember one minor detail: I'm a smoker.  
  
My free hand rummages my purse for that lighter of mine.  
  
"Got it!" I exhale with much relief. With exuberance I reserve for those routine verbal spars, I flick the cap over and press it to light.  
  
  
  
A small crimson flame illuminated right before her – for a very brief time that is. The same harsh winds that echoed her resolve ganged up on that flame of hope.  
  
  
  
Frustration.  
  
  
  
"EAT THIS!" I forcefully shove my card key into the repugnant console's mouth. Desperate times calls for desperate measures, so they say.  
  
"Ooh… I hope you choke!" Came the finishing touch.  
  
"Stupid human contraptions!" Is it just me, or did I just sound like HIM? 'Uh-oh…' This time, I thank my idle hands for clamping my mouth SHUT.  
  
"ACCESS GRANTED."  
  
"Thank You!" Whatever my voice is loaded with, sarcastic sincerity or sincere sarcasm, I don't muse over it. I only care about the doors parting in front of me. After my Manolo Blahniks carry me inside, the steel doors slid closed behind me, punctuated by the reverberation of an eerie thud. The dim surroundings doesn't bother me, just a slight inconvenience.  
  
I'm home.  
  
I allow myself a moment of relief though the backless number I don doesn't save my back from the cold touch of the steel doors I am pressed against. 'Time …'  
  
"…TIME!" I am entitled to voice my concern tad frantically!  
  
"TIME: 1:45 am, SATURDAY." Came the answer in the all too familiar wooden voice.  
  
"CAPSCOMP, increase Security Protocol to Level 3." 'Earth to Bulma, nothing on this planet can bypass CC's security system except you and your dear 'ol dad.' I kept reassuring myself with that piece of information. The truth is, I just don't feel safe…  
  
"AFFIRMATIVE, MAXIMUM SECURITY ENGAGED."  
  
… anywhere anymore.  
  
"Then why do I bother going there? It's pointless!" A moment of indecisiveness creeps. I stop dead on my tracks.  
  
"Right…"……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
'Just go.' Floated in my null mind. For once, all these inner voices made a unanimous decision.  
  
  
  
With that thought in mind, she straightened herself up and proceeded to the accomplishment of her prerogative. Not bothering to knock, she presses the bronze latch and nudged the door open with quite gentle ferocity. She Paused. Hesitation? Fear? Not even Kami-sama knows why. She entered. Turning around for one last glimpse of the pin-drop-silence, her determined hand swung the door closed to the outside world. She is in her own world now, none of those prying eyes, the only place she would rather be.  
  
She dropped what remains of her defenses, thus removing that carefully crafted seal over these unresolved – and perhaps unwanted – emotions raging beyond her control. Only there will she let herself be swarmed by that bewildering cyclone. Needless to say, she will reckon with that long due confrontation with her own self. She waged a valiant fight worthy of anyone's respect be it human or not. So long and hard it took to erect – much more sustain – her what seemed like infallible barricade. Yet in an instant, it all came crashing down. The irony of it all, for in her private safe haven will she fathom the meaning of that four-letter-word: P- A-I-N.  
  
She felt EVERYTHING.  
  
  
  
I face the equally tortured soul. 'It's 'bout time we get this over and done with!' My unadulterated HATRED for this creature eclipsed the FEAR rocketing my entire being to oblivion.  
  
"It's over." It was meant to be a question really, but I can't allow this apprehension saturate my voice. I am feeling everything all at once and it's DRIVING ME CRAZY! Of all people, I can't let YOU see ME this weak. Do YOU understand? This is a losing battle but I…I…I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO! Please, tell me what I want to hear? NO! TELL ME THE… truth. Our eyes locked on each other.  
  
"It's over." PERIOD.  
  
"It's over." EXCLAMATION POINT!  
  
Bitter-Sweet Truth, that is what I got.  
  
Alas, I fall apart. And so does she – my reflection.  
  
"GO AWAY!" I avert my eyes from the TRUTH staring at me. But there is no escape. Everywhere I turn, smooth mirrors walled on the four corners of my – supposed – sanctuary bombard me with that god-awful woman. Try as I might, I can never ever deny that we are one. I put a halt to this neurotic dance traversing every nook and cranny of this mental asylum. I let my waist-length locks save me from the sight of the pitiful tortured soul reflected from every angle. My body contorts into a ball of anguish on the polished marble tiles.  
  
"Why?" Came the question everyone asks.  
  
"I don't want to fight anymore…" There is so much more to say. My strength had dissipated. My indomitable spirits abandoned me. I surrender to all these emotions tearing me inside out. 'How do you open the flood gates of your soul?' That inward inquisition hushed all these damn nagging voices bellowing my consciousness with a swarm of unsolicited nonsense.  
  
NONSENSE!  
  
Then why does it hurt…"this much?" Cringing ever tighter, I allow myself to be engulfed by loneliness, hatred, fear, and… and… WHATEVER!  
  
"W H A T E V E R ! ! !" '…is wrong with me?"  
  
Shit! Shit! Shit! "S H I T!!!" A good bad-mouthing was all the catalyst I needed in erupting this volcanic rage from my system – It invigorated me somewhat also. In a heavy breath, I begin exhaling the tension away.  
  
  
  
Like a possessed blender, my head continues swirling in frenzy. Well aware of it, I stubbornly unfurl from this pose of despair and make a last-ditch effort to gain my balance and stand up.  
  
"…" The bathroom floor reuniting with my face piped down whatever I was about to say.  
  
With angry hands, I prop myself up then immediately do a quick physical check-up hoping there are no new additions to the still fresh cuts and bruises. Satisfied with the damage report, I begin shaking the dirt off…  
  
"… MY $5,000 DRESS!" My chiffon dress gets marred with all that gooey filth sticking on the damp floor.  
  
"DAMN YOU VE…" '…geta?'  
  
NO!  
  
You're not the one to blame, "I am!" As convenient as it is to vent this colossal misery on you, I won't. You're the only one I've got remotely close to my knight-in-shining-armor – whoever he may be. This only means one thing: If E.T. – Evil Troll – is the best I can 'do', then I might as well dig my own grave and do him the favor of burying this 'Baka Oona' alive.  
  
Determined to stand, I give everything into one last try. On wobbly legs, I stride towards the bathtub. Destination reached, my exhausted hands zero-ed in on the silver shower knob. Satisfied, a genuine smile fleetingly passes. Then, my no longer fabulous self collapsed in disarray on the ceramic tub.  
  
'My lids close. Everything fades into the pitch-black void, yet there I find no reprieve. Cool droplets cascading down on my now soaked clad body wash away the impurities clinging to me.  
  
"If only I could wash away them all," '…the impurities of my soul.'  
  
  
  
Like in eruptions of the geological kind, her spewing of emotional debris is not the end, but the beginning of something more cataclysmic: the delicate and tricky process of coming to terms with what used to be hidden bits and pieces of her. Either she pulls them in a warm embrace or pushes them away like the plague, whichever force she sets her heart and mind on, One thing is for sure: she will never be the same again.  
  
  
  
AN: I am going to finish this, even if not many people are paying attention to it. I know. I am taking this agonizingly slow. Bear with me people! THANK YOU, for reading! 


	4. Remember to Forget You(INCOMPLETE!)

HIStory and HERstory  
  
  
  
  
  
DISCLAIMER: All hail Toriyama-sama!  
  
  
  
THANK YOU'S: .  
  
SPECIAL THANKS: Thanks to my ever-trusty mug for always holding my ice-cold coffee whenever I exhaust my puny mind power on this BV fiction.  
  
CHAPTER FOUR: Remember to Forget You  
  
A saiya-jin is bad by nature. An angry one is worse. Vegeta, the worst of them all, would have been a fitting king for such a barbaric bloodline. When this Machiavellian "little prince" gets inflicted with those tantrum episodes, he transcends that barometer for nastiness - shooting it up to the stratosphere and beyond!  
  
NEWSFLASH! He is in one of those manic fits.  
  
Annihilate! Burn! Crush! Disintegrate! Eradicate! .  
  
FUCK! Damn reflexes!  
  
A spur-of-the-moment projectile careened, putting whatever startled the extra-temperamental saiya-jin out of its misery. That very impulsive facet of his saiya-jin mind overrode what is left of his level-headedness - if he had any to begin with, that is. On his favored course of action, one thing is amiss: he just went for the kill. Whatever happened to his rules of engagement? As predictably unpredictable he may be in everything else, he is without question a precautious war machine, which is why any rash outburst is unacceptable for a warrior of his superlative caliber and unparalleled ego. "What in bloody hell?" Power recedes, self-hate dramatically increases. He paced towards the charred remains of his victim - a harmless digital alarm clock. Indeed, its vibrant flashing and not so sedate beeping can startle anyone, but this alien has a penchant for deluding himself with the thought that he is beyond in all aspects over every sentient being in the known universe. As he inched closer, his baffled saiya-jin mind pushed through with the post-mortem of this uncalled for incident. Destination reached, he again went berserk - this time though, minus those out of control ki-blasts. "Ouji-sama, congratulate yourself! The scourge of the Northern Galaxy is history thanks to you! You are the one and only SAIYA-JIN NO OUJI, conqueror of lazy human's wake-up contraptions! This victory is yours! YOURS! YOURS! YOURS!" C'mon, calm down. Breathe. After that breathing exercise, he knowingly ground his hand against the still hot shards of metal scattered on the miraculously unscathed Mahogany table; jagged edges cut through his gloveless palm, letting that precious blue blood of his trickle down from the open flesh. Not even once did he flinch or grunt in discomfort. Discounting his unhealthy training repertoire, there is not a hint of the masochist in him. Everybody is well acquainted with the sadist marauding monkey, but certainly not with this benign self-mutilation of his. At least his ordeals in that little hellish sphere of his have a purpose; this one though, has none - or is there? "Now." A glutton for pain, I am. ".So that you won't forget!" My bloodstained hands never fail to amuse me. This time though, I am half-amused. No wonder, it's my own blood. This is the most effective method of education there is and.  
  
Pause.  
  
".All that I had ever known." Though still very much in the middle of reprimanding himself, his keen hearing picks up faint hissing noises from the ceiling. Instinctively, he adopts a defensive stance and tilts his head.  
  
One. Two. Three. Certainly, one-too-many sprinklers than he could care count overwhelm his defenses with harmless water. He bowed down to the soothingly cool water navigating its way through the contours of his well-muscled physique. No enemy lurking in the shadows, Just He, Himself, and Him.  
  
AN: WORK IN PROGRESS! I've been really busy (So shoot me!). Finally, no more academic hassles. This chapter is taking way too long, I know. I'll finish this chapter this week. Really. 


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